So, it’s Friday. Quarter to 5.

My mistress is at our usual joint, waiting. She’s patient and meticulous with time. Very rare traits in a woman. I told her I’d be leaving at 05:00 sharp.

I’m now counting down the minutes, literally. It’s frustrating as hell.

Unlike her, I’m not the patient-kind and I’m terrible with time. But I’m hell-bent on keeping time today.

It’s going to be a good night. A Friday night on a January end month no less!

I have a wife at home. Just two years into marriage with a six-month-old pregnancy. I insisted we wait to find out the sex during birth. She insisted on a gender reveal party that laid me back a couple of thousands. All to find out the gender of an unborn child? Something inevitable? I’m still recovering. Anyhoo, anything for my love, right ladies?!

I was overjoyed to learn it’d be a baby girl. My baby girl. If only she knew the kind of life I have planned out for her. I swear Princess Charlotte of Cambridge would choke of envy.

Being on her second trimester my missus is quite irritable. Even the slightest of sounds, smells or weird looks trigger her rage. When in the room, she can’t stand the sight and scent of you. She blames it on the baby. The hormones. So, mostly I keep away. But then again, that is a problem. When you stay out too late, the baby misses the soon to be father.

My house feels like an Afghan war zone with landmines under every step.

Once I wore a blue shirt, one of my favourites, one of her favourites really, but it apparently made her feel like throwing up. Hell, you’re the one who bought it for me woman! It’s the only gift from her that I happen to like, not that there are many apart from the usual belts, watches and wallets. And now I can’t wear it, not at the moment. So, I had to change shirts. The blue one is lying somewhere in our closet, buried deep until things calm down, or her mood swings to the right (side) at least. It was either that or giving it out. The latter was not an option. That shirt once got me a phone number in a concert. How ironic, right? But anyway, it’s my lucky charm shirt. I wear it whenever I’m having a big presentation, an important interview or attending a Sauti Sol gig.

So, today I’m wearing black. I loathe it but it’s a friendly colour, or should I say tolerable. Apparently, the baby likes it. This worries me. I hope my baby girl doesn’t turn out Gothic. I’m not a religious person but I pray daily for her.

My mistress must be wearing blue. I smile at the thought as the clock hits 04:55. I click ‘shut down’ on the PC monitor. A short trip to the gents, should do it. The usual evening routine to kill time.

I sneak into the parking lot and casually slide into my German machine. Ooh, how I wish. My 2012 Allion is reverse-parked next to the BMW of our HR head. I’m slightly ashamed that I’m leaving before she does, but this is no time for that.

The engine revs at exactly 05:00 and I’m off.

Traffic is starting to build up and before long it’ll be a real snarl up. Being the end of the longest month in a calendar year, this is no surprise. I take a couple of right turns and with close to half an hour I’m in a parking lot yet again.

Seasons is a relatively quiet bar with a strict ‘over 25 only’ policy. One of the reasons I love the joint besides the fact that it’s little known. A nice hide-out for discreet folks. It’s quite affluent though. You can tell from the parking lot. “It’s time I upgraded to one of these,” I think as I reverse-park. Faces I’ve seen at Seasons have led me to believe a few drug deals are sealed here every night. None of my business though.

Seated at the counter is my business. She’s in a blue mesh dress with ruched detailing and balloon sleeves. She waves as I scan the bar. I prefer private booths, especially when I’m not with the boys. But since I found her here, I didn’t have the luxury of choosing a secluded spot. I head towards her and we embrace, warmly and slowly. A Swarovski necklace lays over her cleavage. She looks like she’s about to go out for a shoot. The dress is covering just enough of her thighs and leaves the rest for my eyes. I’m suddenly glad we’re at the counter. She’s glowing and she knows it. I was right about the blue.

We exchange a few pleasantries.

The bartender approaches and before I could say anything, she hisses, “He’ll have a double Scotch!”

“I know there’s a curfew but you’re not going home tonight!”

I like the sound of that. Her making decisions for me, it’s authoritative in a sexy way. Devious and equally dangerous; everything I like in a woman. As much as I would love that, I’m quick to say NO!

“I’ll just have a beer.” I say to the bartender. “White Cap.”

“You know that can’t happen! I have to get home, my home.”

She retreats with a smile that oozes off confidence.

“We’ll see about that!”

She knows too well that once four beers are circulating through my veins, my mind and body are all hers. A puppet. Hypnotized.

My plan, though it has never worked before, is to stop at three!

To be continued…